


Make Me Feel

by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Arcades, M/M, Punk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 09:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyholic/pseuds/justacookieofacumberbatch
Summary: The year is 1981, and this SOB is playing Sherlock's game!





	Make Me Feel

He was wearing a yellow jumper with a crisp white collar peeking out the top. This pillock in the braided belt and top-siders was playing Sherlock’s game.

“Bastard,” Sherlock muttered under his breath as he pushed through the crowd to the Tempest cabinet and clunked his token down on the corner of the control panel. He leaned on the machine across, hands shoved into the pockets of his tattered jacket, positioning himself at the perfect angle for the tosser to see Sherlock’s reflection in the glass of the cabinet. Let him get a look at Sherlock’s bright red hair and ripped t-shirt and plaid kilt over his jeans. It’d scare him off soon enough.

He stared at the bloke’s reflection, ready to catch his eye with a withering stare, but after a moment, it became clear that he was too absorbed in the game. So, Sherlock crossed one foot over another, letting the toe of his boot scrape against the bloke’s heel.

No reaction. He didn’t even shift his stance.

Sherlock did it again, kicking a little harder as he uncrossed his feet, and harder still as he crossed them again. He puffed out a harsh breath, probably not loud enough to be heard in the din, and lit a cigarette, flipping the lighter closed near the bloke’s ear.

That got a tiny flinch. Sherlock smiled. He knew the game well enough (hell, he held the current top score) to know that an ill-timed blink could spell disaster. That flinch was sure to do him in in no time, so Sherlock pushed himself off his current cabinet and sidled up to Tempest, ready to swoop in.

For fuck’s sake, he was still going! How was that possible? And he was on level fucking 98. How? No one else got that far in the game. Sherlock dominated the all-time high scores. Well, him and one other--

“Fucking hell, you’re JHW?”

This time, the flinch was larger, accompanied by the telltale strains of game over.

The bloke slammed the heels of his hands to the control panel. “Jesus Christ! What is your damage?”

Sherlock glanced at the cabinet, blank cursor blinking over the number eight spot of the top scores. He laughed, snuffing out his cigarette. “You must be joking. You”--he gestured derisively up and down the bloke’s body--”are JHW.”

The bloke crossed his arms over his chest. “What of it?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Nothing, but don’t you have an Easter basket to get back to?”

“Fuck off,” he grunted, sliding a token off the top of a pile to his left.

“Whoa.” Sherlock grabbed his wrist before he could get to the coin slot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

JHW ripped his arm free. “Playing the game.”

Sherlock blocked the coin slot with his knee. “Like hell.” He tapped his token at the corner of the control panel hard enough to make it skitter to the floor. “I reserved it.”

JHW crowded into Sherlock’s space, gaze fierce and biting, almost intimidating despite being several inches shorter and dressed like an ice lolly. “Go on. Get your token. I dare you.”

Sherlock stared him down, calculating the optimal moment and optimal method to get his token off the floor and into the slot before the other bloke. He feinted. JHW flinched. And then Sherlock dropped, grabbed his token, reached for the slot.

But JHW’s leg was already blocking it, and he was already picking his starting level.

Oh, fuck no.

Sherlock went straight for the knees, barrelling his shoulder into them. JHW’s knees buckled, but much to Sherlock’s consternation, he kept a grip on the control panel. He even used Sherlock’s back to regain his footing. The little prick.

Sherlock stood, brushed himself off, and body checked JHW.

JHW kept his hands on the controls, but the sad beeping from the cabinet made it clear that he’d been hit.

“That’s one life,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Make me lose another one, and you’ll be sorry.”

Sherlock looked him up and down. Even as skinny as he was, Sherlock outweighed JHW by at least a stone. The balance of probability was that Sherlock would win in a fight, but then he’d likely be unable to play for the rest of the night, or worse, banned from the arcade.

He smirked. He had a better idea.

Stepping behind JHW, Sherlock let him get a peek at his reflection and then grabbed the controls, pushing JHW into the cabinet and trapping him there.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Playing the game.”

JHW tried to struggle against Sherlock--stomping on Sherlock’s foot (useless against his steel-toed boots), jerking his hips back, pushing on Sherlock’s arms with his elbows--but he didn’t have much recourse without taking his hands off the controls. And given his distraction, his next two lives disappeared rather quickly.

“Game over,” Sherlock tutted. “My turn.”

“Fuck you,” JHW gritted.

Sherlock smirked, leaning to JHW’s ear and murmuring, “Buy me dinner first.”

Sherlock had expected JHW to flee or drop the controls or at the very least make a disgusted face. What he didn’t expect was the shiver that shuddered through JHW’s neck and shoulders.

Interesting.

“Go on,” he whispered, this time letting his nose touch JHW’s ear. “Get your token. I dare you.”

“Use your own damn token. You owe me.” Voice still rough, angry, but with a breathy quality that wasn’t there before. 

Very interesting.

Without lifting his left hand from JHW’s, Sherlock fished into his own pocket for a token, and if the back of his hand skimmed JHW’s arse, well, that was just how it was going to be. And as he leaned down to deposit it in the slot, he let his body slide along JHW’s, pausing a bit longer than needed, chest to arse, as he let the coin fall.

And as Sherlock returned, chin to crown, JHW’s breath was coming a little faster. 

Fascinating.

A tiny trickle of pleasure stirred in Sherlock’s groin, and he wondered if JHW could feel it. He wondered if he wanted JHW to feel it.

Well, he was nothing if not curious, so he let JHW take over the game, giving enough token resistance to give the impression that the game he was most interested in was still on the screen. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he eased his leg between JHW’s.

He didn’t notice a significant change, no extra tension in the shoulders, no increase in respiration or perspiration. He mustn’t have noticed. So, Sherlock gave a little push with his hips, a small change in pressure before retreating, and waiting.

Sherlock thought he noticed a single huff of a breath as he pushed, but he couldn’t be sure in this noisy place. He wanted to be sure. He needed an undeniable sign.

So he rocked into JHW a little harder. The fear of rebuke zinged through him like lightning, and mixed with the rush of his imperceptible obscenity in the middle of the crowd, he felt dizzy with exhilaration. This was almost better than drugs.

But then JHW pushed back, a tiny arch of the back pressing his arse to Sherlock’s groin. Oh, this was much better than drugs, and Sherlock’s cock pulsed. JHW’s gasp was more pronounced this time, and Sherlock was certain he felt the pressure of Sherlock’s partial erection. And he liked it, which threatened to make Sherlock’s cock noticeable to people outside their little circle. That might be a bit too much even for him.

So he put his mouth by JHW’s ear again. “Back room.”

He let go of the controls, pushed himself off the edge of the cabinet, and strode away. He didn’t look back, but he could feel JHW following him. He could feel the disturbance in the crowd as JHW squeezed and squirmed and pushed past them. He could feel JHW’s eyes on him, and it almost made him want to take a circuitous route just to enjoy the power of it for a few more seconds.

Almost.

He opened the rickety door to the back room, incognito between two cabinets, and let it fall closed behind him, casting him into darkness. He knew there’d be a chain hanging near his face. All he had to do was reach for it, but he left it. He liked the idea of a messy tumble in the dark, groping for body parts until they found them, reluctant to let go lest they lose them. 

And he wouldn’t have to look at that ugly fucking jumper.

For a moment, he could see the hazy light from the arcade, JHW’s silhouette cast on the back wall, and then it was dark again.

“Where the fuck is the light switch?”

Sherlock followed the sound of JHW’s voice and found him in no time, crowding him against the door, hands groping until they found arse. Ah, he was facing the door.

“Leave it,” Sherlock rumbled, chest pressed tight enough to JHW’s back that he was sure to feel the vibration.

“Fuck.” JHW spun, and Sherlock would have faltered if JHW’s hands weren’t immediately on his shoulders, neck, face.

He pulled Sherlock down and devoured him. Sherlock hadn’t felt a kiss this hungry since… ever. What a delightful surprise, and wasn’t this bloke just full of them. 

Thrilling.

Sherlock’s hand found a hip, and he slid closer, gratified to find a bulge pushing against his thigh. He sighed into JHW’s mouth and pressed his palm to JHW’s groin. It throbbed against his hand. Oh, JHW was desperate for it.

The hands on his face dropped, and the next thing he felt was those same hands pawing at his kilt, yanking it up, gathering the fabric in one fist as the other searched for Sherlock’s zip. He gave up on kissing Sherlock to pant in his ear as he struggled with one hand to work open the button on Sherlock’s jeans.

Sherlock reached between them and flicked it open. “Name’s Sherlock, by the way.”

“John,” he said, not even as an afterthought, more like a reflex, because the n sound hadn’t fully escaped his mouth before Sherlock’s jeans were open, and John’s hand was wrapped around him.

John groaned like it was an immense relief to have his hand on Sherlock’s cock. He slid his hand up to the tip and back down to the base, pressing his fingers to the skin above. He stroked once down the hair leading to Sherlock’s cock and then reached under to fondle Sherlock’s balls, all the while breathing in Sherlock’s ear. All while the clatter and clang of the arcade continued just outside the door. He closed his eyes to soak it in, the sounds, the heat of breath, the ruffle against his neck that made his scalp tingle, the smell of Bijan. His fingers flexed and released against John’s hip and bulge as John’s soft, slow, reverent touch lured him into relaxation.

He dipped his head to kiss John’s neck, but before he could get there, John dropped, leaving a rush of air in his wake. Sherlock had to catch himself against the door and heard murmurings outside that were clearly in reference to the sound his hands made when they hit it.

But he could hardly care because hot. Wet. Lips. Tongue. Suction. Oh fuck. John was like a Hoover. He sucked hard and fast and mercilessly, tiny moans escaping with each pull. Sherlock wondered if one of those had escaped when Sherlock pressed his groin to John’s arse in the arcade. He could just picture it, the micro expression of pleasure, the huff of air, the noise trapped at the back of his throat.

He would have had time to enjoy it, too, if John hadn’t been aiming for some sort of world record. It was too fast, but God, it would kill him if John stopped. So he dropped his head, locked his knees, and let himself jerk in tiny, aborted thrusts until he spilled down John’s throat.

John’s mouth slipped sloppily from Sherlock’s cock as Sherlock caught his breath. The orgasm was good, John’s mouth a revelation, but he’d have to slow down if they were going to do this again. And God, did he want to do it again. He wanted to see what other surprises John had in store. Just what was hiding under that preppy exterior?

Sherlock aimed to find out.

He dropped to his knees, ready to return in kind, show John what it really meant to get sucked off, but he found John panting, hand desperately tugging at himself. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and pulled it away.

“Don’t—“ John started but immediately cut off as Sherlock’s mouth enveloped him. “Oh _fuck_.”

His hands gripped in Sherlock’s hair, ruining the spikes, but Sherlock didn’t care. John’s cock was pulsing and jerking in his mouth, so close to coming before Sherlock even got there, but he was going to stretch it out as long as he could. He pulled off almost immediately to wriggle his tongue against John’s frenulum. He fondled John’s bollocks. No, fondling would have been too much. He grazed them with his fingertips.

After a moment, he closed his lips around the head, sucked John down until a sigh of relief escaped him. And then he slid back up, releasing John’s cock and just breathing on it.

John’s hand tightened in Sherlock’s hair. “Bastard.”

Sherlock had to admit he liked a bit of hair pulling, but not right after he’d come. And with this bloke… well, he’d see, but for now, “Pull my hair again, and I’ll punch you in the taint.”

John let go of Sherlock’s hair completely at that, and Sherlock went back to it, long, slow, gentle pulls that had John whining and squirming. He sounded like a fucking fire truck.

Perfect.

Finally, on one whimpered _please_ , Sherlock gave one good, hard suck and John came, grunting softly with each pulse.

Sherlock swallowed and sat up, wiped his mouth. “Come to my place.”

Sherlock could feel the perplexed expression on John’s face. “Why?”

“Because you need proper sex, not whatever you can fit in without anyone noticing.”

“How did you— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, though he knew John wouldn’t be able to see it. “221b Baker Street. See you there.”

He stood, opened the door, and strode out. John would follow him, if not now, if not tonight, soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't exactly explain how one came from the other, but this was inspired by the music video for Make Me Feel by Janelle Monae (https://youtu.be/tGRzz0oqgUE). If you haven't watched it, you should.
> 
> Many thanks to shamelessmash for introducing me to the song and screaming with me and beta-ing this piece. There's at least one more chapter coming. I'm not sure.


End file.
